On Monday
morning I left La Paz for Oruro, a smallish city 4 hours bus ride
south of La Paz high in the Alto Plano. I was accompanied by Elena
McGrath a grad student from Wisconsin who's doing research for her
PHD in Latin American history about mining co-ops in Bolivia. Our
shared purpose was to visit the co-operative mines located in and
around Oruro and interview miners who live and work there. You'll be
pleased to hear I'm going to leave out the more academic aspects of
our trip (if you want to find out about these you'll have to wait for
the launch of my website on co-operatives or the publication of my
book).
Unlike most
of my bus journeys through South America this one was both
comfortable and uneventful, if a little dull. We arrived in the early
afternoon travelling through vast unfinished suburbs most of which
languished in a foot of water with no sign of anyone who might be a
involved in their construction. My first impressions were not good
and the hotel Elena had suggested brought little relief. The
facilities were basic and the décor consisted of a tobacco stained
collection of brown and cream hues with fake wooden panels lining the
stair case, a shower that operated via faucets attached to copper
pipes running along the wall and a toilet that steadfastly refused to
drain. The underwhelming start was quickly assuaged when we left the
hotel and ventured into the centre of the city. To my delight this
had a rather different complexion. The central part of town is much
older and built in narrow streets, many lined with trees where the
chilled out locals ambled along with a smiles etched on their faces.
We stopped close to the central plaza for some lunch and feasted on a
salad followed by thinly sliced steak served in a cast iron dish with
a couple of perfectly fried eggs nestled underneath.
Afterwards
we walked for 15 minutes ascending towards the foot of the hills that
surround the old part of town where the mines that have supported the
city for four hundred years are located. As we emerged from the
narrow streets a huge statue of the virgin and child confronted us
standing proudly atop one of the hills (I'm informed the statue was
only finished in the last couple of weeks and is bigger than the
status of Jesus in Rio if situated in a less spectacular position).
There we found a monument to the miners complete with the first of
many devils (called Tio) we were to encounter and a rather beautiful
church called Sanctuary of el Socavon emerging from the steep banks
of the hillside. I'm not usually one for going into churches as I
feel a little hypocritical but on this occasion safe in the knowledge
that this was dedicated to the miners I entered.
Virgin and child
The
Sanctuary of el Socavon hides within its confines not only a series
of beautiful murals on its walls and vaults but a mine shaft that
predates the church now serving as a museum of mining and another
more eclectic museum on its upper floors covering all aspects of
history relating to Oruro. After gazing a the murals for a few
minutes which include rather graphic scenes of hell under the surface
of the earth and angels with distinctly Latin American features we
paid for tickets and descended into the first mine shaft of our trip.
After
climbing down the winding stairway hewn from the rock we arrived in a
long passage way where the old tracks used to cart the ore excavated
from deep within the mountain remained slowly decaying. Lining the
passageway cabinets filled with mining artefacts, ore samples and
diagrams helped give a picture of just how long mining had played a
central part of life in Oruro. The custodian (a former miner)
provided some explanation, although his constant presence got a
little tiring. I guess he was just pleased to have a couple of
visitors. We only managed to shake him off on departure, only to find
another willing guide at the second museum with a similar
determination to accompany us. Though this time round our host was a
little more better informed and willing to take answers rather than
monotonically droning on. In little more than an hour she's managed
to take us on a whistle stop tour of the eclectic little museum
covering everything from prehistoric fossils and pre-incan carvings
to biblical artwork and elaborate carnival masks. As dusk approached
we returned to the centre of town and enjoyed a couple of beers in
the Club de Arabe where plump local business men played dice games
and the diligent waiter assisted me with a light for each and every
cigarette I smoked. Dinner consisted of a disappointingly undersized
pizza before we hit the hay in preparation for an early start to get
to San Jose co-operative mines.
Old mines
After an
unsettled night's sleep thanks to the worst bed I've slept in since a
night in a country manor in Norfolk many years ago we got up at six a
little bleary eyed but excited about what lay ahead. We made our way
back to the central plaza to find breakfast and a cab. This proved to
be more challenging than might be expected as not much in Oruro seems
to get going until around nine. After half an hour of wandering we
arrived at Oruro newest and only five start hotel. This rather
incongruous structure rises to ten floors and resembles a blue tinted
glass rocket. The receptionist confirmed we could dine for breakfast
and to our delight the dinning room was located on the ninth floor
with glass walls providing vistas across the city (the building is
comfortably the tallest in town) and out across the plains of the
Alto Plano. The food also proved to be most excellent, with a buffet
of cereals, fruits, pastries and yoghurt supplemented with eggs
cooked to our specification.
After
breakfast we returned to the plaza and caught a cab to the mines. To
my surprise the mines were no more than five minutes cab ride with no
clear distinction between the end of the city and start of the mining
complex. We exited the cab and found ourselves wandering from
building to building in search of a tour provider among children,
stray dogs, elderly women and miners (all with a strange propensity
for shell-suits). After a series of unsuccessful enquiries we arrived
in the office of the Curazon de Jesus (Heart of Jesus) Co-op and
after twenty minutes wait where I had to decline a number of offers
to take a couple of miners wives off their hands our guide Raul
arrived. Raul was a jovial middle aged man who's spent twenty years
working in the mines and had now moved into the tour guide business
in an effort to avoid the fate of his father and almost every career
miner most of whom dyw in middle age thanks to lung disease or fatal
accidents.
After
kitting us out in the obligatory overalls, helmets, torches and belts
(because they make us look cool) we dropped into the shop to buy
cigarettes, 96% alcohol (white spirits to you and I, miners favourite
tipple here) and a couple of bags of coca leave we were ready to
enter the mines.
Ready to mine
The mine's
entrance was not unlike a railway tunnel apart from the spaghetti of
cables and pipes covering the floor. After walking one hundred meters
we turned off the main tunnel and into a side chamber where we had
our first encounter of the day with Tio. Tio was a statue of the
devil covered in streamers and replete with bags of coca leaves,
cigarettes, the aforementioned 96% alcohol and oversized (I think?)
erect cock! Raul explained that before we could get down to any
interviewing or exploration of the mines we must take care of Tio.
This meant lighting a cigarette for Tio (which just so happens to fit
perfectly between his lips), giving him a drink and scattering coca
leaves in his lap. As each offering was made we were obliged to take
a corresponding hit ourselves while chanting “Huyayaya Tio”.
Tio in all his glory
Mouth full
of coca leaves and burning throat thanks to the alcohol we commenced
our interview (I'll be sharing details of the interview on my
dedicated co-op website rather than here). Once the interview was
done we began our descent deeper into the mines. Before long we'd
left the reassuringly solid stone walls and walked stooped under
precarious beams of eucalyptus. The temperature rising as we
progressed further into the mine. Before long we met another statue
of Tio where we repeated the ritual and gave him a little pat before
continuing on our way. Soon the beams we no longer there either and
it was clear we'd crossed into the more recently excavated part of
the mines the co-operatives had excavated themselves with their more
haphazard approach. After a scramble down a series of crevasses we
finally met some miners. You might expect them to be hard at work but
they were seated in the gloom chewing coca and chain smoking
cigarettes. Where Raul had provided an interview with little omitted
these stoic miners were rather more reluctant to talk, although one
did show me how to spot silver, lead and iron ores. After sitting and
sharing our cigarettes, coca leaves and alcohol with the miners Raul
took us further into the mine through increasingly narrow passage
ways that felt more like caves and caverns than mines shaped by man.
By this time the heat was intense and the dampness almost glistening
on the brightly coloured rocks and it was time to return to the
surface.
Miners enjoying a well earned break
Emerging
from the mine we got out of our kit and accompanied Raul to the
miners social building, originally purposed as a carpenters workshop
when the mines were state owned and a little more organised. The
walls were covered in brightly coloured murals and there Raul told us
more about his own personal history in the mines and his relief that
his sons were not going to follow his path. After giving him a little
Scottish history in my broken Spanish and offering our thanks we left
the mine and returned back to the more familiar world of the city. A
quick four course lunch for two quid and we were back on the bus
headed for La Paz feeling a mixture of enlightenment and
astonishment.
